


A Home Lost

by BurningLeviathans



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Fandom
Genre: Internal grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningLeviathans/pseuds/BurningLeviathans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skulduggery returns home in an attempt to settle his demons, and comes to terms with a fact that he has been aware of for a very long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Home Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote some of this as a roleplay starter to "audition" as Skulduggery in an SP roleplay group, and it hurt so much that I wanted to make it longer and turn it into a ficlet. I have a lot of feelings for a fictional skeleton.

The rolling hills were silent, not even the whisper of the wind through the grass being heard. All was completely still; there were no birds chirping or flying off into the clouds, no squirrels or chipmunks chittering and gathering nuts. There was nothing but the swaying grass and the decaying ruins of what looked like a once grand manor.

Only a lone figure disrupted this silence, and by presence alone. The footfalls were unheard in the tall grass, the brush of fabric on fabric missing as the body beneath moved. Hands were stowed in a long overcoat's pockets, the tail of the coat being whipped about by the wind. It was a miracle that the broad-brimmed hat didn't fly off the figure's head, it hardly looking even remotely disturbed by the blustering wind.

Approaching the half collapsed manor, the figure stopped about halfway near what could only be a doorway, head looking from left to right slowly. After a moment of what seemed to be contemplation, the figure advanced forward, though slowly, as if trying to walk through water.

How long had it been since he'd last returned here? The memories of laughing children, of pattering feet on carpeted floors returned to him. Of a calling mother, shouting in another language that dinner was ready. Of a doting father, herding the children towards the large dining room, where the savory scent of cooked meat with vegetables wafted around. There would be faces made at the boiled vegetables, and petty whining about not wanting to eat them. But they would get eaten, hardly being tasted next to the perfectly seasoned meat.

It was a large family, one that had always been in good spirits, in good health, in perfect luck. Loving parents, nurturing siblings that looked after one another. Nothing had ever been so perfect, so grand. Even the youngest, a child with a terrible stutter, was protected from those that firmly believed he was possessed by the Devil.

Leaving those memories to fade, the figure carefully picked his way through the rubble, the fallen stone and the moss that was beginning to grow, towards a large, open area. The roof had collapsed, leaving it a gaping center in the large building, the barest of cold sunlight shining down on the destruction.

Kneeling down, a gloved hand slipped away from its confines of a pocket, before brushing away the dust and rubble, revealing an almost immaculate coat of arms, the design intricate as it was beautiful. The years had barely seemed to tarnish it, and hollow eyes looked on it with the utmost of sorrow.

Gloved fingertips hovered over the metal, before recoiling as if suffering from a large bolt of electricity leaping out at them. Pain had never been something he'd worried about often, not since being resurrected, but it did occur every now and then. This kind of pain, however, was one he'd thought he'd long since abandoned.

Standing, Skulduggery took a step back from the coat of arms, looking at it one last time before turning on his heels, heading back out the way he had come. All the things that he had done in his life, every crime and sin he'd ever committed had thrown his soul so far away from being a part of his family's any longer. He'd lost the privilege, the very right, to claim his family's coat of arms the day he had allowed that armour to control him, that dark surge of power to guide his murderous hand.

Even if it had been centuries, and he had saved countless lives through his Sanctuary work and beyond, nothing could ever help him atone for what he had done in the War. He could never forgive himself for what he had done. He could never reclaim his family's rightful name; he was forever separated from being who he was in that life.

He'd just never imagined it could hurt a skeleton as much as it did.


End file.
